The Sentinels of Andersonville (13 page)

Twenty-one ladies seized upon the unprecedence, and off they went, a lighted match thrown down on turpentine-soaked cotton.

Hettie reached for the metronome. When prodigious chitchat produced fewer socks, she employed the metronome. It set the knitting pace and production increased. She once told Mother if they would not listen to Scripture, they
would
produce socks.

“Has anyone ever
heard
of changing a dance date?” asked Mae Belle Dreyer, an Episcopalian. Episcopalians were practically Catholic, but not quite, so Mae Belle was treated normally and not with overpoliteness.

“What provoked it?” said Louise Spencer.

“What, indeed,” said Mary Robinson darkly, needles clicking.

“It
is
inconvenient.” Constance, a spinster fraught with good works, winced. “I had planned to knit and knit on Thursday’s trip to Albany. I have two pairs to go and
would’ve
had them done by Saturday. It will not be my fault, yet I will not feel as if I’ve done my duty.”

“I made four pairs extra,” Hettie said soothingly. “Two can count
toward yours. Come, my lovely ladies, let your needles fly. Nothing has changed. Nothing has changed. Widows and orphans, widows and orphans.” She said it in time with the metronome.

“I
wish
I could make the meeting tomorrow night, Violet dear,” Constance said, corkscrew curls shaking in sympathy. “But I had pledged my help to Josie Millard for preparations.”

“Perhaps you should postpone it,” said Sallie Peyton, across from Violet. “Who would show up?”

Sallie Peyton had come only twice to Knitting Brigade. She and Violet had been classmates at the Furlow Masonic Female College at the far west end of Lamar Street. While Violet and Lily disliked Sallie discreetly, the younger Stiles girls disliked her with open relish. She was rich and pretty to a fault. Far worse, she had come with her parents for Sunday dinner a few months back and flirted shamelessly with Dance. Posey had stepped on her foot.

Before Violet could answer, Hettie announced, “It shall carry on as planned. Tomorrow night I will be
right
here,
in
this place,
with
all my heart, for the sake of Hebrews 13:3. Dorsa Walker will be in charge of selling the socks at the Millards’. It is all arranged.”

“Will you postpone it?” Sallie asked Violet.

“Starving men don’t have time for us to postpone,” said Violet.

“I fear you won’t have much of a turnout,” said Sallie.

“Neither will the dance,” Lily declared.

Hettie sighed and clicked off the metronome.

“Too bad
Dance
won’t be there for you to
dance
with,” Posey commented. The extra madeleines were not yet ready to serve. She sat on the floor with Tessie Robinson, winding a hank of wool into a ball. “Emery Jones neither. I plan to marry him one day. I kindly appreciate you all steer clear of him.”

“Why, Violet,” Sallie said, “do you intend to steal the few eligible dancing partners we have?”

“I don’t have any dance in me, Sallie. I’ve seen the prisoners.”

“Who would want to dance with a Yank?” Sallie laughed, sure others would laugh along. No one did.

“Violet’s right,” said Ann Hodgson. She was the only one without the pretense of knitting in her lap. “You know she is, Sallie Peyton. You were at the same picnic as I. You saw down into that fort. I saw you throw them your crusts.”

“Yes, it was a pitiful sight.”

“You made sport of them.”

“I did not!”

“You threw down your crusts and laughed while they scrambled about.”

“That is ugly,” said Posey, lowering the yarn.

“You can bet
that
guard wouldn’t dance with you,” Ann told her.

“Which guard?” asked Violet.

Ann looked at Violet. “There was a boy around our age in one of those lofts. You have to climb a ladder to get to it. The lofts look down into the stockade. Well, Sallie and Florence and I went over because Sallie said she wanted to see Yanks up close. We went up the ladder, and . . .” Ann looked at the rest of the Knitting Brigade. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Such a tremendous amount of men. They were filthy, and terribly thin. They were starving. I have never seen starvation. It was . . . overwhelming.”

Ann Hodgson did not often come on Mondays. She lived closer to Andersonville. She was a year or two older than Violet, and Violet had always admired her. She had a plain, confident face and a plain, confident manner, much like Hettie Dixon. Her husband of three years was in the war. John came home once on furlough, and later came baby James. He was seven months old. As Lily had predicted, Rosie and Daisy had received him with delight and took him over to see Widow Hatcher.

“Was this the picnic Papa spoke of?” Lily said slowly. “The one where you ate on a hillside right in front of the men? And the garrison staged a mock battle for your entertainment?”

“It was fun.” Sallie shrugged.

“It was shameful,” said Ann. “I didn’t know where we were going to eat. I didn’t know what they were going to do.”

“What about the guard?” Violet asked.

“That Dance Pickett thinks he’s some peacock just because of his father,” Sallie said.

“What did he do?” Violet asked Ann.

“Took her wrist and said if she threw any more crusts, he’d throw her. The other guard laughed and laughed.”

“He ought not have
touched
me!”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” said Posey.

“How you ever thought you’d amuse anyone with that behavior,” Ann said. “No one thought it funny.” She looked at Violet. “I’m not here to knit. I don’t have time these days. I’m here to tell you how I felt when I saw that bill posted at the Andersonville depot.”

“Here it comes,” said Grandma Percy.

“I want to tell you what you are up against.”

“I’m getting a feeling.”

“No,” Ann said, shaking her head. “Listen. After that picnic, I took a wagon with Isaiah and we went out collecting food, round where I live. Most were willing to help. That wagon bed was full. We drove up to the big gate and I went to the office of Captain Wirz, who is the commander of the prison. I told him we had collected food, and would he please pass it out at the normal time for rations. Well, he was agitated. He said I would have to get written permission from General Winder. I said, ‘Whatever for? It is simply food for starving men.’ He said it had to be done, and so I left Isaiah with the food and James and I went to town. Captain Wirz went with me.
General Winder was in his office with two other men. I stated the case and asked if he would give me a writ.” She fell silent.

“Go on,” said Hettie.

She looked at the ladies. “You will hardly guess. He said he wondered just how far my Yankee sympathies went. He said James likely had
Northern
blood in him . . . if you take my meaning.”

A collective gasp.

“That cannot be true,” Mary Robinson said. “General Winder is a gentleman. He paid his respects to Henry and Josie Millard when they lost Toby.”

“Captain Wirz suggested I set up a house of ill repute near the stockade.”

Another gasp.

“Only he didn’t call it that. He called it far worse. And they all laughed.”

“I will not sit and listen to these falsehoods.” Mary Robinson put her knitting back in her bag. “It is wicked.”

“It is true.” It came from Sallie Peyton, whose voice had changed.

All eyes upon her, she murmured, “Mama and I were at the dry goods store. General Winder’s door was open. I didn’t hear what the general said, but I did hear Captain Wirz. He said it to be heard. They did laugh. Ann cried.”

“I didn’t cry at that. I cried when General Winder told me to take back the food from where it came. I said, ‘But sir, men are starving.’ He said, ‘That is neither here nor there.’ I said, ‘It is mercy
 
—it is a matter of humanity.’ He said there was no humanity about it; that my act was intended as a slur upon the Confederate government and covert attack upon him. I said, ‘Sir, I do not take your meaning; this has nothing to do with you.’ He said, ‘Get out, and take your food with you.’ And that is when I cried.

“Captain Wirz escorted me back to the wagon, and when it was
just us, he seemed different, as if he were sorry. That could be my imagination
 
—I was crying so, I didn’t hardly notice him. I got in the wagon and we started to drive off. Then I heard someone yelling. It was the guard, the young one. He came running up, and said, ‘Thank you, thank you!’” Tears came, and she blinked them back. “I was in such a state I could hardly understand him. I said, ‘But I didn’t do anything,’ and cried even harder. He said, ‘Oh, but you did.’ Captain Wirz came, and he yelled and cursed at the guard to get back to his post. But that boy just stood and stared him down. He made a fist and I thought he was going to hit him. I said, ‘Don’t.’ Isaiah got nervous, and we drove off.”

“That’s my Dance,” Posey said.

“How do you think Josie Millard felt about that handbill?” said Mary Robinson, whose closest friend was Josie. She looked them round. “What about Judge Tate? He lost his nephew Thomas and just lost Brett at Peachtree. What about the Runcorns? Do you see Ravinia here? She hasn’t missed a meeting
 
—why do you think she’d miss this one? What about Clara Hatcher? What about loyalty to our
own
people, to these poor souls who have given all? Charity begins at
home
.”

“If we do not denounce the Yankees, we are sympathizers. And if we endeavor to feed them, we are traitors.” Ann lifted her hands and dropped them. “My husband fights for the South. As to the Cause, I am Southern, born and bred. Our only hope is for Lincoln to lose. Get him out of office, perhaps the tides will turn. Maybe even the border states will turn. But starvation has nothing to do with politics. Mrs. Robinson, if you could just see them.”

Constance rocked in place and fanned herself, corkscrew curls trembling. “I’m all aflutter. I see both sides. I want to feed them. But poor Josie Millard . . .”

“I cannot feed a man who killed my best friend’s boy.” Tears
came to Mary’s eyes. She fiddled with the half-finished sock in her lap.

The room grew very quiet. The ladies exchanged glances, and then pitying looks went to Mary, and some went to Violet.

“That is love, too,” Mary said. “She is the kindest woman I know, and her heart is
 
—” She took a moment to collect herself. “Her heart is broken. He was like a son to me. I nursed him when Josie was sick. I half raised him. I cannot feed a Yankee. It would be false of me. False to Toby, and to
 
—”

The room held its breath.

Mary raised her eyes to Violet.

“I still have the pearl beads for your dress,” she said softly. “We got them from Augusta. Remember the lovely shop?”

The collective gasp was no louder than rustling silk.

“Some think I am hard-hearted, because I did not cry at his service. Well, a dead woman can’t cry, and I wish I had stayed dead.” Tears freely fell. She couldn’t talk above a whisper. “You are such a good girl, Violet Stiles. You are spirited, and strong, and how my boy loved you. How I looked forward to being your mother-in-law.”

Hettie took the handkerchief out of the Pressing Needs box and slipped it onto her lap. Tessie went to her mother and cupped her hands around her face. “Don’t cry, Mama.”

“We held out hope for Toby because if he made it, some of Ben would too. They grew up side by side. They were brothers.” She pressed the handkerchief to her eyes. “They murdered my boy. I cannot feed them, Violet. What I can’t understand is how can you?”

How Violet had dreaded this moment.

There was nothing to do but step into it. “Most times I couldn’t cry either, Mrs. Robinson,” she said softly, feeling peculiar, as if someone else were speaking. “Some thought me cold. Isn’t it strange? The two who loved him most? How alike we are. I’ve always thought it.”

Mrs. Robinson had set the course of conduct for bereavement, and Violet had followed her example readily. Her parents did not know what to do. They once called in Hettie, who was always on hand for any Stiles crisis, but all Hettie did was sit with Violet on the porch and hand her an occasional homemade peppermint. That day, Hettie became more than a family friend. She became Violet’s friend.

She felt the accustomed emptiness when she reached for Ben, and yet something was different. For the first time in a very long time, it didn’t hurt as badly.

“I was at the prison and I saw a man. He was a step away from death. And a light came to me, then. In that moment, he was not North and I was not South. He was just a man, suffering dreadfully. It was as if he lay all alone at the bottom of a very dark well. If my Ben were in that well, I would have wanted someone to come and let him know he was not alone.”

“Remember the prisoners,” Hettie Dixon whispered.

“I saw those men that day, and all I could think of was my John,” said Ann Hodgson, eyes brimming. “What if he were in a Northern prison, suffering so? I learned I cannot help by going straight up to the gate. Violet, that handbill is straight up to the gate. Maybe it will work if you get this town on your side. But if not
 
—don’t you give up, Violet Stiles. I found other ways. You can too. When I saw that handbill, I was no longer alone. I knew, then, how the guard who thanked me felt.”

“Cast down,” Hettie whispered, “but not destroyed.”

“I’m here to say thank you, Violet.”

“Madeleines?” Mother stood in the entryway holding a silver tray, a flood of tears streaming down her face.

“News!” someone shrieked outside. “There is news!”

For a moment shock took the parlor and no one moved, then all hurried as one for the porch.

It was Hanna Percy, daughter-in-law of Grandma Percy.

“What do you think?” she gasped, waving her hands in the air. “Oh, oh, what do you think?”

“Tell it,” ordered Grandma Percy.

Hanna took a second to catch her breath, and then screamed, “Reverend Gillette has been
kidnappe
d
!”

 
—